A Brief, Irrational Rant About the Weather

The only thing as consistently contemptible as the weather are the people who sit on their porches and coo over how lovely it looks. Unlike the weather, those people can be ignored, or sent away, or locked in a room with many bees. There is no escape from weather just like there’s no way to avoid time, or entropy, or bees if you’re locked in a room with them.

The thing that most jives my turkeys about the weather is that there is no situation in which I am pleased with it. Each season entails an even more specific genre your misfortune will fall under so there is no time of year when I can step outside and say “Golly, it looks adequate today!”

The winter is an untoward ice-blasted storm lasting a quarter of a year and indiscriminately kills anything with exposed skin. It is the time in which Earth is facing away from the sun, the source of all warmth and the catalyst for life. With Winter comes longer nights for you to struggle alone with the blighted land, a choice of dying in clear bitter air or of dying in an atmosphere saturated with frozen water. The two key ingredients for human life, water and sunlight, are naturally inaccessible during Winter as the sun is available for about 40 seconds a day, and water is either a solid block that shatters into razors, a suffocating fluff that asphyxiates anything it touches, or a mixture of the two which hurtles from the sky and encases everything in a dead layer of glimmering malice. Winter is the worst season.

Spring is a horrible cacophony of everything Winter slaughtered being reborn in a violent sussura of shrieking animals and trees strangling the air with a flood of pollen. Spring is the shrieking neighbor of Winter that has loud sex at every opportunity, and between bouts of aggressive loving from every animal is the caterwaul of entire species being reborn having temporarily passed blissfully into the ether when Winter came around. Between the roar of everything fucking and the infant wails of new birth, it is a wonder you can hear your doctor prescribing heavy allergy medication to combat the pollen-detritus which comes from every single trees trying to impregnate the Earth and your sinuses which is why Spring is also the worst season.

Summer provides the wonderful opportunity to feel like an ant trapped under god’s magnifying glass while your skin cries saltwater. To preview the inevitable heat death of the universe, step outside in the Summer. Summer is, however, the best month for reading because of the 24 hour daylight coming from the sun conveniently located 6 inches from your bubbling spf 10,000 saturated skin. Of course you could stay inside the entire summer, or for every season if you want, but only if you have a regularly scheduled surgeon who does house calls to remove the excess organs you’ll be selling to cover the cost of keeping your home to a livable temperature. Fuck Summer, it’s the worst too.

Fall: see Winter but with trees that look like they’re covered in the bright red flayed skin of 10,000 mutilated birds and shitty children pounding on your door demanding treats to preempt an addictive personality so they’re ready for meth when they turn 13. Fall is equally the worst season.